It’s three in the morning. I stare at the ceiling, gazing at the dark nothingness, perfectly awake. Sleep had not bothered to knock on my doorstep, or rather, it was kept at bay by nothing significant.
The cool breeze ruffled our hair. The fading sunlight fell onto our faces, more like gentle rays than a harsh beams. Looking up, you could see fiery orange between the dark greens of the canopy of the branches. We sat on the park bench, with our arms occasionally brushing against each other. The setting sun signified the end of our time together, and she decided to ask a question whose answer is more varied, elusive, and invisible than time.